


The Previous Prisoner

by orphan_account



Series: A Prisoner Corrupted [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Killing, Orc Attack, Orcs, Terrifying Tolkien Week, battle violence, ttww
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maeglin, held captive in the dungeons of Angband, is intrigued by scratches on the walls of his cell. Who had made them, and what had happened to him? </p><p>Some snapshots from Maeglin's capture and imprisonment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Previous Prisoner

There was not a single decision Maeglin regretted more than this. Why did he have to leave Gondolin when he did? What was the purpose of the excursion at all? Certainly not to be captured by Morgoth's foul creatures and lead to... somewhere.

While the group of ellyn had been sleeping, everyone but him had been slaughtered. He did not know why. He was sure that was the specific topic of discussion as the orcs spoke in Black Speech over his restrained body.

Now, they traveled during the nights towards this unknown destination, never during the day. In the daytime the foul creatures hid underground in the depths of long tunnels and deep caverns, as though afraid of the light. Like clockwork, he would be led out again once the last light was disappearing from the sky. Over and over this happened.

* * *

 After many nights, Maeglin became more certain as to where his group of captors were leading him. The air got colder as they passed out of the woodlands, and traveled through a dry, empty landscape. Fed only with as much dry, moldy bread as would sustain him, he walked on, feet complying with the orcs' orders as his mind wandered. The only time Maeglin took note of the here and now was when he was shoved to his knees and a whip cut though his clothing, slashing his previously unmarked skin with pure pain--his punishment for being too sluggish.

Then, in the light of a rainless lighting storm, he saw it. A cold wave of dread washed over him at the confirmation of his suspicions regarding their destination. Huge it was, menacing and unable to be ignored—a three-peaked mountain many times as big as Gondolin. Loud thunder shook the earth as fire erupted from the center peak. Though its enormity was obvious, Thangorodrim was still far away. As they traveled, it only got nearer. The mountain, and the fortress he knew lay underneath, increasingly burdened his mind the closer they got.

* * *

 Maeglin could only see through one eye (just a sliver) and the image gave him no comfort. Although he was alone now, left in peace until the next wave of torments, he _hated_ being here anyway. The bones terrified him. Thoughts of the previous prisoner haunted him every waking moment. While in the cell, Maeglin could do nothing but think of its previous occupant. Had he been elf or human? Had he also been tortured relentlessly? He would never know, but different scenarios kept replaying in his mind.

How long had the other prisoner suffered until blissful nonexistence claimed him? On that topic, Maeglin could venture a guess. There were scratch marks on the dark stone walls. Some of them were easy to make out. Deep and straight they were, as if the captive had had all the time in the world to perfect them. Other scratches were just that, scratches; marks that were shallow and jaggedly made, as if their maker had had little strength or will to but run his pointy rock once over the wall.

Maeglin had a good suspicion about the sorts of days those were for the prisoner. Most likely the same things had happened to him that made Maeglin wish his captors would finally kill him—slowly or quickly.

A thought occurred to him—this prisoner had been an elf, not a mortal. This was assuming these marks recorded days spent down here. From what Maeglin had heard, mortals could not tell when one day ended and another began if they were sundered from the sun's light. Only elves had that ability.

This elf had spent a nearly countless number of days in this cell. When Maeglin had first noticed the scratches, he had realized they covered the entire four walls. There seemed to be no end to them. Only later, sitting in a corner when his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, did he realize there was a small section of stone still unmarked. The elf had died before he could cover that area with scratches. It was still much too many days. Maeglin prayed he wouldn't last that long.

* * *

 "Simply tell me how to access the city, and I will grant you freedom," Morgoth was telling him. At last it made sense to Maeglin—why he had been captured and brought here, why he'd been shown a taste of Angband's torments. For the last few nights, no one had come for him, though. They'd left him alone, even with a bit of water and fresh bread. That also fit into Morgoth's master plan, Maeglin realized. He was expected to recover somewhat in mind and body to fully process the offer he was being given.

He couldn't accept it. Not even he, full of selfishness and envy in his heart, could perform such an evil deed. After all, what had Gondolin's inhabitants done to deserve such doom? Nothing. They were kind to him when his mother died, offered him a home when he had none, even accepted him as Turgon's kinsman.

In his mind's eye, Maeglin envisioned it so clearly. The beautiful white city burning. The flames of its destruction casting an eerie glow for a full league about the surrounding landscape. Cinders falling from the sky like snow. Small elflings crying for their parents before being viciously cut down. Ellyn and ellyth alike being killed in the most vicious manners imaginable. Blood running in streams down the streets, or creating crimson puddles in their recesses.

No, Maeglin would not allow that to pass. Not even Tuor, whom he so greatly detested, deserved a fate such as that. Morgoth would have to offer Maeglin much more than freedom to learn of Gondolin's entrance.


End file.
